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Month: April 2017

I love my dog to death. She is my happiness in this world. A day ago, I created an Instagram account under her name. I will be posting videos and pictures of her every day. She already has 61 followers! She might be scared of strangers and often barks and growls at them, but I know she was meant to be famous! LOL. I always see other Shih Tzu’s on Instagram and think, my doggo is way cuter than they are. Why don’t I start a new Instagram for her? So I did. I take tons of pictures and videos of her so posting new things daily won’t be a problem. She’s so loving and loves belly rubs! She loves cucumbers and cooked vegetables and chicken. She’s a traveller! I’m guessing she hates planes??? Also, she doesn’t really like kids. On second thoughts, she doesn’t really like anyone at all other than my immediate family and fiancé. She barks at everyone else lol. Look at that face!!!!!!

I have been unemployed since I came back to my country from studying abroad. By choice, that is. I am not ready to work just yet. My family has been supportive if you’re wondering about that. I have decided to pursue a Masters Degree in Psychology abroad, again, and I will be travelling soon. I am so excited to finally study something that I am passionate about. In the meantime, I am bored to death. All I do is sleep and eat.

When the night comes, I love being by myself. I usually stay up on Netflix and watch series/movies. But what I love even more is taking a sleeping pill before I sit on my bed to watch shows. The pill starts to kick in after an hour of consuming. I tell no one of this because I am afraid. The thing is that I am scared that I will not go to sleep without this pill. I am afraid that I am depending on it to put me to sleep. I have struggled with insomnia before, which is how I got introduced to sleeping pills. I am taking them everyday for the past few months. I used to take them before but I stopped due to travelling and such. And let me just say that this pill is making me fat and drowsy!

Seroquel gets you high. Of course, smoking marijuana is different and I cannot even compare those two to each other, but it makes you hungry, sleepy, and relaxed. I usually get the munchies before bed when I take it. I know that this is bad and I need to stop taking those pills, and I will. I’m just not in a rush.

Since I am newly engaged, I will be staying with my fiancé when we travel to study together. When I was living abroad, I loved the loneliness at times. I always needed my alone time. He was there with me before but we weren’t living together. We were just living in the same building and of course spend the day together. But not at night. There are times where I ask to be left alone even during the day, and he understands. But I have no idea how I will be having my alone time with us living together. I am worried.

“Sexual harassment is bullying or coercion of a sexual nature, or the unwelcome or inappropriate promise of rewards in exchange for sexual favours.”

I know a lot of people find it really hard to talk about being sexually harassed, but I’ve never found it hard to speak about what happened to me. I believe I’ve told a total of 3 people about my sexual harassment incidents. Yes; all 3 times I’ve felt embarrassed. I haven’t told any of my friends, just 3 of my cousins, NO DETAILS. And I never opened the subject, it just comes up when we talk about a certain someone who happens to be a family member as well.

I’ve been sexually harassed twice in my life. I remember these 2 times very clearly. The first time I was too young to realise it was happening. Yet I knew something weird was going on. The first person to ever sexually harass me, lets just say I wasn’t the only one who he did it to. The second time it happened, I was in the 9th grade, so I was 14 years old.

A lot of people in my country are sexually deprived. Having sex before marriage is extremely frowned upon and most people don’t do it, which results in people turning to porn to feed their sexual hunger. I was around 9 years was when I first saw porn on the internet. Pretty young huh? Well it wasn’t me. It was introduced to me by my mother’s cousin. He’s 5 years older than me so he was in that awkward age where he’s “maturing” into an adult. However, at the time I didn’t understand why he would take me to his hideous room with his light blue walls pretty often to show me naked girls. These images stuck with me for a really long time. It wasn’t just normal porn. He was into urine drinkers and… just urine in general (paraphilia). There were pictures of girls casually bathing in pee and/or drinking it. He would take me up to his room every time I would go to their house with my family. No one knew. Other videos and pictures he showed me had porn stars fisting each other. So he was into that as well. Thanks for ruining my childhood.

As you can guess, I knew about sex when I was pretty young. Although, (you might find this hilarious) I did not know that this is how people reproduce. I thought of it as an activity and that is IT. I still thought babies formed in women’s stomachs by the touch of God. A year or 2 later, I got really close to my cousin who is the same age as I am. We were born on the same year, same month, just a day a part. We were alike in many ways and I was a bit of a tomboy, I bet he liked that. I would play video games with him and knock a football around the house with him and just be goofy and do whatever we want. We were like twins. Around that time, I have stopped going up to pee fetish guy’s room whenever I go visit. I slowly started to see less of him each day. However, he had an older brother. All I knew about his older brother at the time was that he was a computer geek. He would play games on his computer all the time. That’s all I have ever seen him do.

Get this: pee fetish guy introduced me to weird *ss porn, and his older brother sexually harassed me. One day, I was wearing a denim skirt with thick white winter stockings. He was sitting on his computer chair. My cousin & I went up to his room to “play” with his desk collections of some sort and I remember being grabbed by the waist and forced to sit on his laps. Although what I was wearing was really thick, I could still feel him because he was wearing the lightest white trouser there is. He pretended like he was play-fighting with me and he kept doing it over and over and I had no idea what was happening. I really didn’t understand what kind of pleasure he was getting out of this. Months passed and as my cousin & I were sitting and talking he opened up about something very sensitive about the same guy. He told me that he used to make him go up to his room and he would grope him and force him to take down his pants and sexually violate him. He kept telling him if he would let him do whatever he wants to him he would let him play with his toys and games. I think this happened a few times until my cousin stopped going to his house. The thing is that they are really close neighbors.

Obviously he was more traumatised by his incident more than I was with mine. I think that’s when I really got scared. If he’d done this with us, who else has he done this to? Is there anyone else he sexually abused? I wanted to kill that f*cker. We even started to write hate poems about him and start cussing him out at random times. We still hate him. He got married and divorced and now he’s all alone. Karma? I call them psycho brothers.

The second incident that happened to me was in a tuition centre. My frikken math tutor. No wonder why I’m still not good at math. When I was in 9th grade I needed help with math so my mother enrolled me in a tuition centre to improve my mathematical skills. My friends signed up for the programme as well and we took a couple of pre-exam classes together. But I used to go regularly and take individual classes and that is when all the sh*t happens. I still ask myself why I never said anything when I clearly knew that what he was doing was wrong. I know that most of the time I have a passive nature, but there should be a line that if someone’s crosses I should speak up and go like: hey what do you think you’re doing? STOP. But this never happened and I still regret it to this day. What I am really afraid of is that if anything of that sort ever happens again I won’t have a reaction to it and regret it for years.

He would sit next to me in the empty classroom. He would check the door often and turns his head a lot to see if anyone’s there. I finally know why. He was scared that someone would walk in or pass by while he reaches out his arms to my chest and pretend he was going for the pen in my hand. He would actually touch my breast and ask if they hurt. I would look at him strangely wondering why he would “accidentally” stroke my breast 3 times in a row. His eyes locked at me and I sense that he immediately knows like I’m feeling distraught. I was so nervous and scared. He asks me if my breast hurt and I don’t answer. He says that I know girls your age suffer from occasional pain in their breasts. Get your hands off me, pedophile. How I wish I said that to him at the time. My mom picked me up after my class ended, asked me how it was; “fine” I replied. I went home and when the day came that I had to go back to my math tuition classes I begged my mom not to take me. Most of the time she wouldn’t let me skip classes. “you need those classes to pass math” she used to tell me. She was right. But to tell the truth I would rather fail numerous times in math than to go spend 2 hours with the horrible predator. I eventually stopped going.

I never told anyone this. Never have I thought I would, ever. Why would I burden my loved ones with these horrendous incidents? Was it my fault they happened?

When my sister & I were young, it was just us. Mom would always be at work, dad would be god knows where. There were some wonderful days where I remember my dad being at home with me. He would bring some of the rabbits we had in our backyard into the house. He would let me play with them and put them in my barbie car and drive them around in the house. Then there are days where he would come back home and drag me by my long beautiful hair down the stairs and start hitting me because I gave one the rabbits to my friend from 1st grade at the time. Mind you we had around 30 rabbits at the time and if our maid didn’t tell him I gave one away he wouldn’t know. I still do not know why he got so mad that day. He was mad on a lot of days.

Anyone who knows me knows that I have a lot of vague memories and hardly remember things. I find it hard to remember birthdays, or anything else at all. I think I have a selective memory and I only remember things I want to remember. I’ve read so many books that I don’t mind reading again because I forget what they are about. I did not even read them a long time ago, if that’s what you’re wondering. Same goes with shows and movies. I can watch them over and over and wouldn’t know whats to come and how it ends. Ok there might be a problem with me. I don’t even toke up that often. I just used to. Ok thats probably why.

I used to love my dad. Even though he wouldn’t love me or hug/kiss me back, I loved him. I used to love laying my head on him and fall asleep. He would pat me on my shoulder so hard that I actually find it so hard to go to sleep, but I still loved it. My mom spent all day at work. She would come back home at night so exhausted. My dad didn’t work. She did. They would spend most nights fighting, and I would spend those nights going up to their bedroom door and try to eavesdrop although all I could hear is yelling. I remember his exact face coming out of that damn door. His eyes were always bloodshot red and his face so pink, filled with rage. My mother would have tears running down her eyes. I never understood it. I mean I knew something was wrong, I just didn’t understand why.

He never did any father duties. He never took me to school, I don’t remember a day when he fed me or cook me food. No, none of that. But there were some days he made me laugh and giggle so hard that I actually pee my pants. It was mostly at night. Almost around bedtime, he would go wear my headband that came with two braids and wear nothing but his boxers. His belly was so big and that just made him look 10x funnier. He would come to me and act silly and I would be so so happy. I wished he was like that with me all the time. But he wasn’t.Years later we were living separately. My sister & I with my mom, and him alone. He would pick us up most Friday’s and take out to the movies and the mall. Casually one Friday, when he was dropping us back home he said: I am relocating. Leaving this country. You know I love you right?

We basically never heard from him again. I was 7, my sister was 12. Whenever we tried to call him he would avoid answering the phone, or talk to us for seconds and would seem eager to hang up. I remember this vividly. Because it was mostly me who would try to talk to him. My sister not so much. She was angry at him. I was just sad. I was too young for anger. He just left and wanted to do nothing with his only 2 daughters.

I begged for him most nights. I would pray to God to send him back into my life. Eventually, I blamed my mom. My poor mom. She tried her best to get him to talk to us, but no success. He didn’t want it. I’ve read this in a book at a bookstore just 2 days ago: “A girl should never beg her father for a relationship.” I begged for years. I didn’t know any better.

16 years later, we get a call from his sister. He’s sick she said. They cut off his leg she said. Come visit him she said. He’s leaving this world she said. We sat thinking if we should go see him or not. Did he even want to see us? Can he speak? We had so many questions we needed answers to. Are we going to mainly say goodbye? Is he forgiven for walking out on us? Do we kiss him or hug him when we go in that hospital room? I felt like my head was going to explode. Literally explode. Thankfully, my uncle sat us down and basically asked us to go and see him. He said we might regret it if we don’t. He said that he’s still our father even though he left us. We carry his name and he might die soon. We can say our goodbyes he said.

2 days later we booked our tickets to go and see him. I was shaking in the airport, on the plane, in the car; on the way to see him. I was so afraid of being rejected again. I didn’t know if I could handle it. But I had my sister with me, and for me that was enough. She was my Messiah. If I ever cried she would hold me and comfort me. She held my hand all the way long. She held my heart all my life.

We got to the hospital and my vision became blurry. We got in the elevator and I felt my heart beating out my chest. I wanted to go back home. What was I doing? Why am I here? Does he know we’re here? We reach the third floor, we walk out. I swear I have never felt so anxious all my life. We walk into his hospital room and I immediately see his lower part of his body under hospital blankets. He asks who’s there and I just collapse onto the floor. His voice was so weak. Like an 11 year old boy. He knows it’s us. He knows it’s me who’s on the floor. He says my name and I just lose it. I couldn’t breathe. My sister held me up and told me it’s okay, go in she said. He kept saying don’t cry, she kept saying don’t cry. I get up and walk over to his hospital bed. Who is this skinny man? He’s blind. He can’t see us. He has his arms in the air trying to reach for us. I hesitate to touch him and eventually stroke his hand. His nails were dirty. 10 seconds in and I notice something. He immediately starts blaming us for not speaking to him. My sister goes off at him and says no, you never called, you never asked, you never freaking picked up the phone. Then I sit down and think to myself, is this man serious? And I immediately regret the moment I was anxious to meet him. Frankly speaking, I had a little hope in me. I usually am not the “have high hopes” kinda person. I am very realistic in life and I never raise my expectations, especially when it comes to people, and definitely not when it comes to my “dad”. I really wanted it to be a nice yet sad little reunion filled with emotions and honesty and him confirming leaving us was his biggest regret. I certainly expected not one, but many apologies.

It’s been several minutes and let me just say, this man has the audacity to blame us? Are you ok? Do you have any idea about the pain that you caused the family you chose to leave? I never hated him more in my life. I’m going to be honest and mention that I have tried to reach out to him multiple times growing up. The last time ever that I tried to was when I was 17 yo. And I promised myself that I will stop, and I did. Let me just put it out there and say this man did not want to see us. Maybe he felt alone and scared. Maybe even bored? I don’t know. At the end of the day I don’t know this person. Amusingly, he remembers all of my family members and he takes the time to ask about each and every one. I kinda liked it. This is what I felt: you knew them! you were once close to them! oh you’re family! But then I quickly remember no he is not, he left. When it was time to leave, we got up and said goodbye and wished him to get well soon. This is when he shed a few tears. I genuinely think that this happened because it was time he was going to be all alone again in that depressing room. I felt bad for him. I really did. We kissed him goodbye, I knew that was the last time I was going to see him. He didn’t even ask us to come back. Nothing. I was extremely disappointed. I still am.

Exactly a week later, he passed. He was very stubborn. He had diabetes and kept eating sugar and he wouldn’t take his medicines. I did not cry when he passed. I was relieved that he went to a better place. He was ill and no man should go through getting his leg butchered. Diabetes is a scary disease.

A girl only needs her mother. A girl can grow and blossom without a father. Especially if her father doesn’t happen to be the best dad in the world.

I am a one best friend kinda girl. I don’t believe that group friendships are genuine. I say this because of my current and my past experiences. Even if I were to say that group friendships do work, there has to be people in the group who are closer to each other than to the rest of the group. Girls talk shit, all the time. I have rarely come across girls who don’t gossip or talk shit, and these girls ended up being more damaging and somehow creepy. We all gossip. It’s because of this shitty society we live in. We say things, hear things, believe them and judge people without knowing THEIR truth.

Anyway, ironically I am “friends” with a group of girls. We are 4. Let me begin by saying this, we were not friends by choice. One of these girls is my cousin so she’s family. The rest are HER friends. So naturally, I am closer to her than the rest of the girls. It’s safe to say that she has been my best friend since we were really young and she is the most wonderful person I know. She is 2 years younger than me and so are the rest of the girls.

It’s worth mentioning that 3 years ago, I had my group of friends and my cousin had hers. We got them to meet and there we were. We were a group of 7. Today we are 4. Tomorrow, it will be just me and my cousin. This I know. However, years ago I did have other “friends”. I later found out that they were more corrupt than the Devil himself. Shit happens, this is life. We lose some we gain some. Same goes with people.

From the context of my writing you might think that I am unhappy and dissatisfied with the friends that I have now. You may be right. I long for something else. Maybe something out of this world? You see, with them, I have secrets. These secrets burden me in a way that you cannot imagine. I want to be with someone who will not judge me, who will not lie to me to impress me, and who will give me the attention that I need; when I need it. My cousin keeps calling me an “attention whore”, and every time she says this my soul breaks a little. I do not know why it hurts me so much. Maybe it’s because she is not there when I need her the most, even though she thinks that she is. She does not know that I try to avoid talking to her most of the time, but I keep running back to her because I have no one else. But then there are days where I broke down and was in need of desperate help, and yet called NHS emergency hotline instead of her when I was living abroad all alone. This is when I need your attention. When I am sad and lonely and depressed. There are days where I have called you crying my eyes out and you put me on hold to do something else, something less important. I do not feel important to you. There are days where I wished I could call an ex-friend instead of you. She would’ve listened. She wouldn’t have called me an attention whore. I do not want anyone’s attention. I just want to be able to reach out without feeling like a heavy burden on your shoulders. I don’t want to take much of your time. On second thoughts, I don’t want any of your time anymore. I do not want to ask for your attention when I need it, just so that you can call me an attention seeker weeks later. So here I am. Having no one to talk to when I feel like talking. Turning to blogging can maybe help me more than anyone could. What is the point of having friends if you cannot talk to them at your darkest hour of the night?

My fiancé keeps telling me that he is my best friend and that I do not need anyone else. He says this because I cry to him often about missing my ex-best friends and how they were so good at listening to me and relating to me. I share none of that with my current friends. They know nothing about me. NOTHING. They just know what I want them to know. But at the end of the day, will I rant about my fiancé to my fiancé when I need to? You keep telling me that you don’t know anyone who complains about not having a friend as much as I do. And I keep telling you that everyone already has their someone, I don’t. And this is why you don’t hear anyone complaining about it the way I do. I want my someone too. Will I ever find her? And if I ever do, will she hurt me in the end just like everyone else?

Don’t get me wrong, I love my cousin to death. But she has been there when I’ve had my “friends”. It was always them, and then her. Years ago, in time of need I would speak to them about my troubles. But now, I do not have anyone else. And I cannot speak to the other girls in the group. I do not know them on that level. We look good in the car together, singing along to music. It’s fun going out to dinner with them. But that’s IT. We don’t share anything in common. Nothing. Nada.

To top this off, one the girls has been lying since the day we met. At first I thought it was cute because she would lie about a song that I would play in the car. What she would do is google the song’s lyrics and pretend to know the song just so I can feel like “oh! cool! you know this song too!” we’d have this song in common at least. She felt it too. But it keeps getting too far. And it just feels fake on top of fake. She just tries so hard. Why would you lie? And you know what, I just don’t care. I really don’t. Let me just end it here. I want a genuine friend.

I suffer from pain in my brain. I need a safe place to keep all my thoughts in. I am 23 years young but I feel old. I lack focus and energy. You would think that I am a happy bird who is living my life to the fullest. I do seem happy and careless. I got engaged to the love of my life 5 months ago. I have a great family and a wonderful dog. I am supposed to feel complete, right? Wrong.

I have everything anyone can ever ask for. A family that loves me unconditionally, I found love, studied abroad, and I travel a lot. Yet I feel like there is a hole inside of my chest, constantly yearning to swallow happiness and turn it into sadness.

My fiancé is a wonderful man. I couldn’t ask for anyone else. He makes me feel better when I’m sad (which is often), buys me chocolate and books. He’s just great. I constantly ask myself why I feel so empty when I have got so much going on in my life. Or do I?